


Sick and Tired of Running

by Aceomo



Series: Ace's Omovember [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Slavery, No Sex, Nonsexual, Omocute, Omorashi, Omovember, Omovember 2020, Pee, Sickfic, Vomiting, Wetting, Whump, bruh someone stop me, its always piss folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceomo/pseuds/Aceomo
Summary: Omovember day 3- sick/exhausted omoFenris narrowly escapes Danarius once more, and things aren't going well. I changed up the timeline slightly so the story makes sense, just so everyone knows! Also contains non sexual omorashi, so please look it up if you don't know what that is!
Relationships: Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Series: Ace's Omovember [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996936
Kudos: 7





	Sick and Tired of Running

He's lying in the dark cave, one hand resting on his lower ribs. The elf's chest rises with each ragged breath, swirls of colourful light dancing before his eyes. He's not ...quite... at the point where he's worried each breath will be his last, but it's going to be a long and painful night. Fenris is certain one of his ribs is broken, along with his left ankle. He'd escaped from Danarius' goons a few days before, dragging himself as far as he could get before collapsing here. He's gone through water, dirt, mud, and maker-knows-what-else on his way to safety. He's tried to be careful, he really has, but the heat radiating from his wound warns of an infection brewing. The rag below his ribcage is saturated with blood now and he grits his teeth, emptying the last of his water flask onto the cut. He grits his teeth and rips another layer off his shirt, his armour long discarded as deadweight. His lyrium markings glow on and off in the dark and he scowls at them through half-lidded eyes. A blessing and a curse, painfully enforced on him during his slavery, he could now use them to his advantage. The last thing he remembers before slipping into a foggy dark sleep, is the feeling of his own fist solidifying inside his enemie's chest. He doesn't have the energy to feel the pain or horror of it anymore as he drifts into the void. 

He has no idea how much time has passed- an hour? 6 hours? A day- when he is awoken by something wet on his forehead. Before he can even open his eyes, all he is aware of is pain. His ribcage is throbbing, and he's nauseous. He moves to get away from the wetness and has to clench his thighs together, realizing suddenly that he is dangerously close to peeing. He must have been out for a while. Groaning, he tries to prop himself up but it HURTS. The wetness on his forehead moves away and he hears a bark. Fenris cracks his eyes open. "Wishbone?:" he tries to say but it comes out as a rasp. The mabari begins to wag her tail and Fenris' heart sinks. He loves her, but it means Hawke isn't far behind. Nonono... he thinks, but he's too fuzzy to do much else. 

"Wishbone?" Hawke's voice echoes throughout the cave. Fenris curls up, trying to make himself as small as possible. He sees the familiar staff out of the corner of his eye and suddenly Hawke is kneeling down next to him. Hawke's voice is panicked as he takes in the situation. Fenris doesn't say anything. "You're injured..." Fenris wants to snap. No shit, he thinks. He's torn. The whole point of this was to get away, but seeing Hawke and Wishbone felt like home, or at least what he'd imagined home to feel like. Hawke lifts Fenris' shirt delicately to examine the wound. He can tell a rib is broken, but he doesn't ask what happened. He already knows. They've been through this before. "Why did you leave?" asks Hawke, as he removes his own overclothes, preparing to turn them into bandages. Fenris' eyes don't fully focus; he's trying to concentrate but his bladder is quivering wildly, his ribcage feels like it's on fire and his ankle is shooting needles. He grunts, and Hawke seems to understand that he can't answer. He's carrying a small bottle of Tevinter wine, and he quickly removes the stopper. He apologises in advance but it's the best way to clean a wound when you have nothing else. Hawke will take him to Anders when he can, but he needs to deal with this now. He peels back the bandage as Wishbone paces around the two. The wound is hot and sticky, and Fenris feels a low whimper escape his throat as it becomes exposed. 

He sees stars as Hawke sits him up. He's having trouble riding the pain, breathing, and not peeing on himself all at once. Hawke catches his eyes for a moment and sees a flicker of true vulnerability, mixed with the normal anger and primal fear. The shift in motion causes a wave of nausea and before he can stop himself, Fenris' stomach clenches and his body completely revolts. Whether it's due to the infection, or something else entirely, he isn't sure, but all of a sudden he's vomiting. His stomach is empty so it's straight up bile and it burns the whole while. He tries to catch it with his hand but he doesn't quite make it and it drips onto Hawke's robes. He's beyond mortified. The whole point was to avoid experiences like that. He wasn't supposed to be found. He hates himself and now he's so, so, full inside that that he can't contain his own water anymore. The squish causes him to pee for a solid few seconds. The pain is horrifying, but he does stop, concerned about how much bile landed on Hawke. He can't bring himself to look up. Hawke does nothing, just calmly wipes his sleeve and holds his own flask to Fenris' lips. He knows taking in more water is not smart right now, but he's soooo parched and carefully takes a few sips. Hawke says, "You good now?" Fenris doesn't know if he can answer but nods anyway. He doesn't deserve this. He wishes Hawke would just leave him alone like he should. There's no way he should be dealing with Fenris' mess. "It's okay," Hawke intones softly, as if he's a mind reader. Fenris shakes his head. It really isn't. 

Hawke holds up the alcohol, and Fenris grits his teeth, knowing what's to come. Hawke twists up his sleeve and stuffs it into the silver haired elf's mouth. "Bite," he orders and a white hot pain travels down his ribs. He screams into the cloth and jerks forward. Abdomen contracted, his bladder can't handle that level of pain either and he frantically grinds his hips onto the rock below. He's gross, he's so gross and pathetic. He can't breathe properly. "Hey, hey," says Hawke, noticing that the agitation continued for a bit too long after the initial shock. He knows Fenris has an EXTREMELY high pain tolerance. Fenris just shakes his head wildly, panting. "Are you hurt elsewhere?" Another head shake. His lyrium scars glow brightly. Hawke doesn't know what to do, so he lays the warrior back down so he can wrap the wound. Fenris' bladder stretches out in this position and at the point it's just to much. Grunting with effort, he has to hold himself, or he and Hawke will soon be lying in a puddle. Hawke's eyes go wide. "Oh- oh, you have to..." 

Fenris just grimaces, his face purple. Could he just die right now? "Can you, um, get up?" asks Hawke. There's a pause. "I guess, if you could, you would have, huh?" Hawke tries to lean him up again. "It's alright," he says, "I'll help you." Fenris would rather be anywhere else with anyone else. The one person who's been nice to him ever, and this is happening. He gets him into a kneeling position, and despite his best efforts, the warrior starts peeing in his lap. He doubts if he could stand on that ankle anyway. He pinches himself, shaking like a leaf, and Hawke seems to understand. He leans him onto the wall, scratching his nose awkwardly. "If you, uh, don't think you can wait. It's um fine... we're close to home anyway". Sure enough, Fenris can maybe make out some sounds coming from Kirkwall.  
"I- I can't" The first real words he's said. Hawke whips his head around. 

"Like I said, it's, ah... fine."

"No," Fenris shook his head. "Can't come home." He's dripping now, sweating and leaking. 

"Of course you can; no matter how many times you run away, I'll always have a room for you," insists Hawke. 

"But Danarius, he could- he could hurt you. And look at the mess it'll be every time," he grunts out. 

Hawke snorts. "I'd like to see him try." He immediately puts u a fire wall at the cave's entrance. Fenris regards the flame suspiciously, but he spasms once more and his knuckles go white with effort. Hawke looks away. This is so uncomfortable.  
"Y'know, if you're hurting, you could just er... go." He doesn't want to say it, and he knows Fenris doesn't want to hear it. But what other option is there? Fenris' jaw hangs open. Did Hawke just tell him to piss himself? (not that it wasn't already kind of happening).... He begins to hyperventilate again and spits. 

"I- I can't. I won't. I don't need to." Hawke doesn't argue. He knows Fenris' pride is hurt, and due to the abuse he'd suffered as Danarius' slave, he's afraid. Hawke simply goes to sit by his friend.

"OK. I'll just rewrap you, then, yeah?

Fenris nods, not moving his hands. Hawke pushes his clothes further out of the way and accidently exposes his poor elf's swollen bladder. Hawke can't help a small gasp when he sees it, and Fenris knows he knows. He wraps carefully, slowly, and deliberately, with Fenris still propped up on him. His side grows wet, but Fenris maintains his position, wetting agonizingly slowly through his fingers. He's all wrapped up now, but they're in too precarious a position to move. Hawke keeps on hand on Fenris' head, grounding him throughout the process, but avoiding his lyrium scars. He knows it hurts to touch them. He's shaking hard well after he's finished. The liquid drips onto the rock and neither of them says a word. All of a sudden, Fenris tries to get up, droplets cascading off his legs. Hawke catches him just before he collapses. He's dry crying now. "It's this," he mutters. "There's no reason for you to deal with this and possibly get killed." Hawke just shakes his head. 

"Nope," is all he says. 

""Nope?"

"Nope. Wrong. I'm the champion of Kirkwall. Dealing with shit is literally all I do. I LIKE dealing with your shit. 

"You like this shit?"

"You know what I mean," Hawke sighs. He relights the fire and the two's clothes begin to steam off. Wishbone circles them both happily. Maybe he could go home, after all .

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry my endings suck!! You're welcome to add suggestions.


End file.
